Fireworks
by despntiel
Summary: Dean wants to celebrate the Fourth of July, and Castiel makes it happen.


Sam and Dean have been driving on the interstate for at least two hours before Castiel decides to drop in unannounced, and thank God there's no one in the lane beside them, because when Dean catches sight of him in the rearview mirror, he swerves hard and fast.

"_Shit_, Dean, what was that –"

"Cas, what have I told you about _doing_ that?" Dean cuts his brother off and glares at the angel in the backseat as he rights the car.

"My apologies," Castiel grates out, not really sounding all that sorry. "I have important information for you."

And just like that, the Winchesters' latest near-death experience is forgotten, their concentration turned to the case at hand. It's something about a power-drunk demon and a coven of bitchy witches, nothing that they haven't dealt with before, so the discussion is brief and simple – there's just a few bits and pieces of intel that were floating around upstairs that might be useful to the hunters. Once he's said his piece, Castiel makes for a swift exit, but Dean convinces him to stay along for the ride a little while and give him something to do besides listen to Sam whine obnoxiously and breathe too loud. Besides, Dean and Castiel had just recently confirmed Sam's worst suspicions about the exact nature of their relationship (which is somewhere between _yes, Sam, we'll get a separate room_ and _hell no, Sam, nobody said anything about love,_ _you fucking girl_)_,_ and the older Winchester is eager to see how quick he can make Sam nauseous by sharing unnecessarily vivid details about their after-hours activities.

Sam's bitchface is probably permanently etched into his features by the time Dean takes a break from the not-even-subtle-enough-to-be-innuendos and instead turns his attention to the fireworks stand fading in the wing mirrors.

"Dude, how long has it been since we've celebrated the fourth? Let's do it this year. Crack open some beers, find a good lot somewhere, set off some bottle rockets. It'd be awesome. Whaddaya say, Sammy?"

"You know today's the third, right? We've got stuff to do, no way we're gonna be done in enough time."

"I think we can take an hour off from saving the world. C'mon, it'll be fun!"

"I don't think so, Dean."

"Whatever, you old Grinch."

"That's Christmas, not the Fourth of July."

"Same thing."

Meanwhile, Castiel is sitting silently in the backseat, gazing thoughtfully at the back of Dean's head. It's not as though he and his lover have very many share-your-feelings, heart-to-heart conversations, but he's been around both of the Winchesters long enough to know that they don't have very many fond childhood holiday memories in their repertoire. It's a shame, really, considering how the mere thought of fireworks made Dean's eyes light up with young-hearted excitement. The gears click and turn in his head, and he gives very little warning before disappearing with a flutter of wings, leaving the hunters behind to daydream about classic, all-American Independence Days as they zip down the highway toward their destination.

* * *

It's a day later and they're packing up the car in the back lot of an abandoned warehouse, the hunt of the evening wrapped up nice and easy, complete with a bow on top. Sam is dusting the last bits of dirt off of his old Levis while Dean replaces guns and salt and empty bottles of holy water in the trunk of the Impala, and Castiel is standing by the older Winchester's side, quiet and still as ever. He had made his entrance after the show-down ended, and though both hunters were certainly glad to see him, it made Dean wonder why he bothered showing up. If everything was all over and done with, weren't there more important, heavenly things to be attending to? And now, when they're just putting the finishing touches on the clean-up, why does it seem like the angel is stalling? There's nothing in this gravel lot to wait around for. But Castiel is intent on keeping them talking, keeping them here, not letting them leave. _Hmm. Odd._

The hunters had shucked off their jackets earlier under the blistering heat of the afternoon summer sun, but the wind is starting to pick up, carrying with it the usual post-sundown chill. Dean has just run out of patience and told Castiel that _hey man, I'm freezing and sore and tired and ready to hit the hay, so see you later _and he and Sam are about to climb into the haven of the warm car when a noise like a gunshot rings in their ears, causing the hunters to jump in surprise, instantly on alert. They're scanning the dark treeline nearby, right hands reaching instinctively for their back pockets, for guns that have already been packed away in a moment of after-hunt satisfaction. But they both visibly relax when they hear Castiel's soft "Oh," and look upward to watch the last sparks of the brilliant red firework fade out into darkness.

Another shower of light erupts above their heads, and Sam and Dean only look away from it because suddenly Castiel has wormed his way between the two of them and is holding out a pair of ice-cold beers, a warm smile on his face.

"Cas... did you do this?" Sam asks in disbelief.

"I thought you would enjoy the show," the angel says, "as a congratulations for a hunt well-done." As if to accent his words, a bright flower of reds, blues, greens, and yellows blooms up in the sky with a loud _bang_.

Sam grins happily and takes his beer with a thank you, bending down to stretch out on the grass in front of the car, resting on his elbows. Dean is still staring at his lover, pleasantly speechless, so Castiel tugs him by the elbow and pushes him onto the hood of the Impala, scooting up next to him and settling against his side. A strong arm wraps firmly around his shoulders as he pops the top off of the beer for Dean and hands it over, encouraging the older Winchester to turn his attention back to the sky. The hunter's eyes are wide and excited, almost childlike in the glow of the fireworks, and Castiel finds himself watching Dean's face more than the light show going on above them. His pink lips are damp with beer and in the shape of a small "o," in awe of the colored explosions. Each one reflects beautifully in Dean's golden-green eyes, trained reverently on the sky, and then suddenly they're looking straight into Castiel's own dark blue ones. The angel can see the silent question in them, but instead of offering a verbal answer, he reaches over and loosely threads the fingers of his left hand with the ones of Dean's right.

A hearty grin spreads over the hunter's face, lighting it up in a way that even the fireworks fall short of, and Castiel feels a sense of pride at being the cause of it. Dean squeezes his hand gently and pulls it closer, to rest on his stomach.

"Happy fourth, Cas," he whispers.

"Happy Independence Day, Dean," the angel murmurs back.

Dean snorts and shakes his head, and when Castiel asks what's so funny, he smiles again. "Nothin'. Just... thank you." He raises Castiel's hand to his lips and kisses the fingertips lightly.

Another firework bursts in the air, successfully capturing Dean's attention, and Castiel watches him watch the sky. He's glad for the time with his hunter, glad that Dean and Sam are enjoying their surprise. He revels in their quiet "oohs" and "ahhs," and the sparkle in their eyes that has nothing to do with fireworks and everything to do with this rare moment of happiness.


End file.
